


Blood Doesn't Make a Father

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Series: The Cahill Project [37]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV 2012), Flashpoint (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies), Nikita (TV 2010), S.W.A.T. (2003), Supernatural
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm Proud of You, Jeremy Renner Character Combinations, The Cahill Project, The Grimm Truth, Tortured for information, cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: Dean's in trouble, but he knows his cavalry is on the way.





	Blood Doesn't Make a Father

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place July 12, 2011
> 
> Bingo Fills:  
>  **Dean Winchester bingo** \- Cabin in the Woods  
>  **Bad Things Happen bingo** \- Tortured for Information  
>  **Fluff bingo** \- "I'm Proud of You"

Music pumped out of the speaker of the Impala as Dean cruised down the scenic route towards home. His ROTC summer program ended a couple of days ago and now he looked forward to spending the rest of the summer surrounded by his family. He hated missing his niece’s birthday party, but hopefully she liked his present. A teddy bear three times her size might have been a bit much. Still . . . he only had one niece. Didn’t that mean he got to spoil her rotten?

A grin settled on his lips as his phone rang, its ringtone an old codger’s voice singing out something about a ‘good ol’ hockey game’. He turned down the radio as he reached for the phone.

“Yo.”

“Does Ma know you answer your phone that way?”

“Wouldn’t answer it that way if Marishka-Mama called,” Dean laughed. “What’s up, Sam?”

“Sadie and I have to head back to Toronto soon, but Dad said you’d be home today,” his brother replied. “Figured we’d hang out for another day or two if you’re going to make it?”

“I’m on the road now.” He frowned at the clock, calculating the route and timing. “Hell, I thought I’d miss you both entirely or I’d have taken the highway. “I should be home in about four hours.” His grin widened. “Or maybe a little sooner.”

“Don’t get a ticket for our sake,” Sam laughed. “We’ll wait.”

“Hey, might be happy to see you, but that niece of mine is the one that’s worth a ticket.”

They laughed and talked a bit more, but Dean’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a girl standing on the side of a road with a baby motorcycle . . . or an overgrown bicycle. Given the way she stood, hands on hips and apparently glaring at it, it didn’t take a genius to realize she had some trouble.

“Well . . . hell.”

“Dean?”

“Looks like I might be a little longer than planned,” he sighed as he began to slow his speed.

“Traffic?”

“No. Damsel in distress.” At the soft snort, Dean rolled his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, dude. She’s not that kind of damsel. Looks Dacia’s age . . . maybe. Gonna see what’s up.”

“Be careful.”

“Not real worried about a teenage girl.”

“And if it _were_ Dacia?” Sam asked, humor and caution both lining his voice.

That made Dean pause to consider as he stopped the car behind the girl’s scooter. “Point.” He opened the door, his eye scanning the empty stretch of road. The tree line sat back a bit from the road with a few of them lining the split rail fence by the road. When he didn’t see any movement, he opened the door. “I’ll stay on the line, but the phone’ll be in my pocket.”

“Just be on guard.”

He climbed out of the car and put on his most charming grin. “Hey, having a problem?”

The blonde gave him a suspicious look, not unexpected for a girl by herself on the side of the road. After a minute of him standing back, hands out and to the side, she sighed and gave him a rueful smile. “It just died,” she told him, waving at the scooter. Then, before he could say anything, she shot him a scowl. “And before you ask, **yes** there’s gas in the tank.”

His lips twitched at the exasperation saturating her voice. “Get a lot of people thinking blonde means dumb, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“All right, let’s see what we’ve got.” Dean crouched down beside the scooter, positioning himself so he could keep the girl in his peripheral vision. “First glance? I don’t see anything out of place, but I’d need to get into the engine to get a real look at-.”

His only warning came in the soft scrape of a footstep, but that gave him enough to come around, arms already moving into a defensive position as he rose. So instead of taking a direct blow to the head, he took a glance one on the forearm. “Shit!” Pain shot through him, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. Shooting out a right jab, he drove his fist into the face of his attacker. They exchanged several blows before a good kick to the gut sent Dean’s opponent sprawling. Dean took advantage of the movement to pull his gun. “Now, you jackass-!”

“No!”

The girl’s shout startled him and he half turned. He shouldn’t have been surprised when the bag struck him across the head, but it did. And the girl must have carried a brick in it . . . As the darkness overtook him, only one thought passed through his mind.

_Shit . . . I hope they gave Sadie her present._

Spluttering and coughing, Dean woke as a flood of icy water crashed into his face and bare chest. “Fuck!”

“Oh, look, he’s awake.”

Shaking his head, he blinked the water out of his eyes, trying hard to focus on the room around him. It took longer than it should have to realize that one of his eyes had no intention of opening. Shit. Blonde bitch must have connected to his face with that fucking bag. When he managed to get his other eye to cooperate, he found himself staring up at two people - the blonde ‘teenager’ from earlier and the hulking jackass he’d been fighting before the hit. ‘Staring up’ because they’d strapped him down on a table, wrists shackled to cuffs over his head.

“We want the access codes to Stark’s tower.”

“And I want a burger with extra fries,” he shot back. “We’ll both live with the disappointment.”

A sharp smile crossed the blonde’s face as she flipped out a knife. She tilted her head as she placed the tip on his collarbone. “I’ll wager I get mine,” she taunted, nicking the skin. He hissed as she drew a light line along the bone. “You can live a long, long time under such painful situations.”

“ _Ondatra_.” The man chastised her, shaking his head. Dean’s eyes narrowed at the Russian sounding word. “Let me. Your way leaves too many signs.”

“We need that intel, _Senya_ ,” _Ondatra_ insisted. “My way is proven to work.” She turned cold eyes on him. “He has what we need, so we’ll have to get it out of him.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“I’ll get it out of him,” Senya (and what the hell kind of name was that for a dude) promised. “And it won’t point back to you.”

“The _Krasnaya Komnata_ won’t accept failures,” she reminded her partner. “And they want the _predatel'nitsa_.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Fine.”

Turning on her heel, she strode out of the room. Dean didn’t like her, but he’d have preferred she stayed. He needed more information. Sooner or later he’d be reporting this whole fubar episode to Will and Marina and he needed to know what the hell the Red Room was doing here . . . and how they knew about his connection to the family and Stark Tower. Maybe he’d hear more later – right now he had a different problem. So he turned a smirk onto the hulking Senya.

“What’s with her bitchy attitude?”

He expected the fist to the gut at his taunt. It’s what he’d have done . . . Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. So did the following blows. Grunts and the occasional cry escaped him, but Dean refused to give this jackass the satisfaction. 

“We could end this a lot quicker,” Senya reminded him as he stepped back. He picked up a bottle and took a drink of water. “I’d prefer we didn’t, but _Ondatra_ wants the codes. You give them to me, we’ll put a stop to all the pain. If you don’t? Well, my fun continues then, doesn’t it?”

“Dude,” Dean sighed. “Just shut the hell up.”

“Think you’re some kind of tough guy, huh?”

“Figure you’re a dead man walking,” he replied, eyes closed as he did his best to keep his breathing under control. “Not real sure when the bullet’s going to finish it, but I know your name’s on it.” That was one fact that kept him steady and in control. He no longer depended on whatever the hell kind of rescue John Winchester might come up with – he waited for the Grimms. They’d already be on the way. Sooner or later, they would come through that door and get him the hell out of this situation. He just had to hold on a little bit longer.

Hopefully they brought some good drugs; his arm hurt like a . . . 

_Dean Matthew!_

A little huff of laughter broke loose as he heard his Marishka Mama’s voice scolding him. Not like she didn’t curse like a sailor, but she seemed intent on trying to keep the girls from picking up the language. He wished her luck.

“Are you listening to me?”

The demand drew Dean’s attention back to his captor. “Hell, no,” he scoffed. “You’re repeating yourself.”

When the next hit came, Dean tried to focus on the room around him. He needed to take in the details . . . needed to remember everything. Just in case . . . something might be important. Maybe a picture or a letter or a . . . Each hit interrupted his thoughts, sending them scattering. So far he’d managed to figure out they had him in some kind of cabin.

Figures. He’s in one of the most densely populated parts of the country and he managed to get himself abducted and hauled to a cabin . . . probably in some woods somewhere. National Park, he’d wager. Pretty much the only woods left anywhere near the seaboard. How the hell did they manage to get a cabin here?

Dean refused to consider that they might have moved him out of state.

“We want those codes.”

At the frustrated demand, he narrowed his good eye on his torturer and folded his lips, refusing to even acknowledge the question.

Crashing sounds and a scream broke the silent stare. Senya started, coming to his feet and turning towards the door. Dean watched, unsurprised when a bullet tore through his captor’s shoulder. The three bullets that followed surprised him more. He craned his head around to try and get a look at his rescuer. Given the ferocity of the attack, it might have been Marina, but the rescue seemed kind of quiet for his kickass foster mother. 

Will Grimm stood in the doorway, his eyes a silvery green as he lowered his gun. He strode towards Dean’s side, snapping out orders over his shoulder as he moved. “Someone take out the trash and find me the keys to these _chertov_ cuffs.” 

“Hey, Will.” The words sounded slurred even to his own ears. “Shit . . . should use call sign . . . sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, buddy.” Will holstered his weapon and reached out to cup Dean’s cheek. “Nobody’s walking out of here anyway.”

“Awesome.”

Blackness began to creep up on him, but Will’s voice drew him back. “Stay with me,” he ordered. “I can’t let you sleep right now.” 

“Tired.”

“I know, but not right now, okay?” He paused. “Dean? Look at me.”

Forcing himself to try and focus, Dean turned his head to get a better view. The swollen eye throbbed in time with the pain in his arm. “Yeah?”

“Stay awake, okay? The medics need to look at you.”

“You leaving?”

“Hell, no.” Strong fingers brushed over his brow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tension he didn’t know he had flowed out of him at the firm promise. Dean drew in his first easy breath. “Half expected…” His voice trailed off. No way did he want to sound like he was complaining.

“She’d have been here,” Will assured him. “I promise – she’s all but vibrating with the need to put eyes on you.”

Warmth flooded Dean’s cheeks. He should have known he wouldn’t fool the man. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A smile curved that hard mouth. “But I told her it was my turn.” A frown creased Dean’s brow as Sam brought a key to Will. His big brother – and sometimes that was still a weird thought – offered him a supportive smile as the older man reached up to unlock a cuff. “She got to go save Samonik,” Will explained. “So I got to come find you.”

“Grimm logic,” Dean began, only to hiss as Will’s hand pressed on his left arm.

“Dean?”

“Damn.” He blew out a breath. “Arm hurts,” he admitted. “Don’t think it’s broken, but . . . took a blow.”

“Get Vincent,” Will ordered his older son as he unlocked the second cuff, his hands steady but gentle as he helped Dean bring his arms down. He didn’t say a word as the younger man muttered curses under his breath. They both sighed in relief as the muscles finally cooperated. “Were they after you or just looking for a mark?”

“Me.”

The eyes that had begun to shift towards more of a blue-silver went straight back to green. “What?”

“Well, more me as a means to someone else.”

Concern and anger flickered in Will’s eyes, but another voice interrupted before he could ask. “You look like hell,” Brian announced as he strode over to the bed. “You feel any better than you look?”

“Not really. Figure Vincent’ll let me have some tequila?”

“No.”

“Oh, hey Doc.” Dean tried to grin at him, only to grimace as the movement sent his eye throbbing even more.

“You boys do know I’ve got enough trouble with the older generation, right?” Vincent demanded as he started scanning Dean. He flicked a glance towards Will. “Sam’s helping outside while we’re in here.” 

“Good.” Will gestured towards Dean’s left arm. “Pressure on the forearm hurt him.”

“So could you not?” Dean added.

“Sorry, kiddo,” the medic apologized. “I need to take a look at it.”

“Guy can dream.”

“Hate to interrupt,” Brian chuckled, patting Dean’s leg in sympathy, “but we’ve got something on the female.” He looked over to his older brother. “Natasha thinks she recognized her.”

“That’s what I started to say,” Dean added. All eyes zeroed in on him and he gave a half shrug, lifting the shoulder of the arm Vincent didn’t have immobilized. “They wanted the codes to the Tower,” he explained. “And the blonde said something about the _Krasnaya Komnata_.” When the two brothers went still, he nodded. “Yeah, I’m still shaky on basic Russian, but Marishka Mama drilled that one home.”

“Any clues on why they want in the Tower?” Brian asked. 

“Yeah, they’re looking for someone.” He grimaced as Vincent prodded at the forearm. “Hell, what did she say? Hmm…” Trying to concentrate, he ran through the conversation he heard. “Something about the . . . I’m gonna butcher this . . . _predatel'nitsa_?”

"Well hell - that could be a list of people."

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Didn’t think you did,” Brian huffed at him. 

“Go tell Natasha,” Will ordered. “Tell Sam he’s on watch while the two of you comb through this place. I want everything they’ve got. Then you’re going to burn this place to the ground. I want fucking ashes.” He scowled at the room. “Where’s Owen?”

“Setting up for the bonfire.”

“Good. You take over and send him in.”

With a nod, Brian strode out of the room. Vincent readied a needle, hopefully with some painkillers, but Dean needed to be sure of something. “Will?” Silver eyes looked down, locking with green. “I didn’t tell them anything,” he repeated. “I didn’t.”

“I know.” 

He never felt the prick of the needle – the relief pouring through him was too strong to allow for any other sensations. The dulling of the pain registered, but he didn’t look away from Will’s face. An emotion gleamed in those watchful eyes, an emotion he couldn’t remember seeing in John’s face in years. 

Pride.

Something wet trickled down the side of his face and Dean tried to blink the moisture away. It didn’t help much, but Will wiped it away with a gentle sweep of his thumb. “I know you didn’t – and I’m proud of you.”

And that right there? John might have looked proud once or twice, but he never said the words.

“I . . . uh . . .” 

Will saved him from any further embarrassment. “You’ll be happy to know we found the Impala.”

“What did they do to my baby?” Dean demanded, shifting as if he planned to sit up.

“Stay down.” Vincent’s absent minded order came with a strong push on his shoulder. “We’re carrying you out of here.” He opened his mouth and the medic held up a hand. “Any complaints and we’ll do it with you sedated.”

“Might be better,” he muttered.

“How do you figure that, kiddo?” Will brushed a hand over his head.

“Probably wouldn't hurt as much.”

“Hey, Boss.” Owen appeared beside Will, one strong hand reaching down to squeeze Dean’s calf. “Ready to get your kid out of here?” He offered Dean a mischievous wink that did nothing to hide the anger bubbling in the back of his blue eyes. “Boss Lady’s on a rampage and she’s demanding you bring her boy home . . . in some pretty sharp terms.”

The Colonel cocked an eyebrow at Dean as he teased, “You ready to be fed and smothered within an inch of your life?”

Dean huffed out a small laugh. “Hell, yes.”

“Then let’s go home.”


End file.
